“That fellow, Conway, really acts tolerably,” he says aloud to Gabrielle. “Did you notice the ring of pathos and truth in his voice? And yet those sort of chaps lead such a hollow life of shams and tricks, that they can’t possibly have a genuine feeling in them. What do you think of Flora Fitzallan, Miss Beranger?”
“Just what one thinks of such creatures,” Gabrielle answers contemptuously, “outside all paint and powder. Inside—— ”
“Pray don’t give your opinion on people like Miss Fitzallan, Gabrielle. They are not fit subjects for your discussion; at any rate before me and my daughters!” Lady Beranger remarks severely.
Gabrielle elevates her brows and shrugs her shoulders. Then, as her stepmother sweeps away, she says:
“I think one thing about Miss Fitzallan, Lord Delaval. I think she has a grande passion for Carl Conway, and I expect she does not try to hide it—off the stage!”
And Zai hearkens in bitterness of spirit, but does not love Carl one whit the less.
“I say, Zai, did you see that Lady Yolande kiss Carl? She kissed him right on the mouth. And I have heard that it is not convenable to do that sort of thing on the stage!” Baby whispers.
And still Zai holds her tongue, but as she listens, it seems to her that it is the last straw to break the camel’s back.
